Chapter 34
Because I Thought of Someone I Can’t Meet
Luanse cared only about his reputation.
He was quite satisfied that his name was spreading favorably among the citizens of the Empire and among noblewomen and young ladies.
But there was one thing he thought of—
and two things he didn’t.
That no male noble would look kindly upon a prince who threw down his white gloves for the sake of a bastard child.
Thanks to Luanse throwing those white gloves, Madam Anne had been buried as the greatest villainess of the Ischter Empire.
And because of that, Loranthia had met Taishar and managed to enter the Imperial Palace successfully.
After his duel with Lorilols, what would the nobles say about Luanse?
They would surely point fingers at him behind his back.
But Luanse had told himself clearly:
“Loranthia. If it’s for you… I don’t care if people point fingers at me.”
Yes—Luanse had said he didn’t mind being criticized, as long as it was for her.
So, Loranthia decided to let him be criticized just as he wished.
She looked at Taishar.
“Since Prince Luanse threw down his white gloves at Young Lord Lorilols for a bastard like me, I doubt the other nobles will look on kindly.
He’ll probably be criticized behind his back.”
Prince Luanse would be scorned by the nobles.
“That is something Prince Luanse must bear himself.”
The sword hilt that Luanse had once gripped now belonged to Loranthia.
He had always been the one looking down on her, commanding from above.
But now, he would have to look up at the twisted version of himself she had created—begging.
“Loranthia, listen carefully. Love and delusion… they’re the same.”
“So your love was a delusion, after all.”
She would make him face a situation where he could do nothing but beg—
and say those same words back to him.
That his declaration of love sounded like “Don’t fool yourself.”
“Lady Loranthia, Sir Evan will be setting your schedule starting today.”
“My schedule?”
Loranthia tilted her head, not understanding Taishar’s words.
Her only duty now was to study—why would she need a schedule?
“I don’t quite understand, Marquis Spencer.”
“Normally, a noble young lady is accompanied by a butler or lady-in-waiting who manages her schedule.”
“Ah…”
Come to think of it, she’d heard Julie telling Illina what she should do or where to go.
Whenever that happened, Illina would stop tormenting her and disappear to attend to her schedule.
“From now on, you’ll have much to learn beyond your letters—table manners, etiquette, and so on. Amelin here will do her best to teach you. But if you don’t wish to learn, please say so.”
“Of course not. I’ll do my best to learn.”
“Pardon me, my ladies. Lady Loranthia.”
“Yes, Evan?”
Though Evan had told her many times to drop formal speech, she still wasn’t used to it.
“I’ll make sure there’s no shortage of dresses, matching jewelry, quills, and any tools you’ll need for study. But if anything is lacking, please don’t hesitate to tell this old butler.”
“Normally, you’d call in a merchant and let her choose what she likes,” Amelin added with regret.
“We can’t help it, Amelin. Evan, buy Lady Loranthia the very best of everything.”
“Of course, my lord. Lady Loranthia, do you have a favorite color?”
“A favorite color… I don’t think I have one. Honestly, I’ve never thought about it.”
She almost said gray—like ash soup, the only color she’d ever known.
But then her eyes met Evan’s.
His dark eyes looked at her with warmth—and, for some reason, deep sorrow.
“In time, Lady Loranthia will have many favorites—colors, weather, flowers… even people.”
“Yes.”
Evan’s heart ached as he looked at her hesitant reply.
He had been shocked at how thin she was the first time they met, but her hair and face reminded him too much of those two people.
Just seeing her made his eyes sting.
“What’s wrong, Evan? You look like you’re about to cry.”
“Forgive me. You resemble someone I deeply respect—my benefactor. I got carried away.”
“You mean you can’t meet that person anymore?”
“At my age, it’s only natural for those dear to me to return to the goddess Ella’s embrace before I do.”
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked that.”
“Not at all, Lady Loranthia.”
Evan still couldn’t accept Musila’s death.
<Evan. Lady Musila is dead. Instead…>
<Impossible! Lady Musila can’t be dead. She was too strong—this must be false!>
“I’m sorry, Lady Loranthia.”
Loranthia slowly shook her head.
“It’s okay, Evan.”
He looked at her kindly, smiling softly.
She resembled Cain and Musila so closely that anyone could tell she was their daughter.
<Calm yourself and listen, Evan.>
<Yes, Magus.>
<Musila’s death may confuse you, but something more important has happened.>
<What is it?>
<Taishar has found Lady Musila’s daughter—and is protecting her.>
<Where is she?>
<In the Imperial Palace of Ischter. Taishar has requested that we send the Red Moon and servants to aid him.>
<Then Amelin and I will go. We’ll guard her with our lives. Please allow it, Magus.>
Evan had prayed that Musila and Cain had simply hidden themselves somewhere, living peacefully with their child.
“My late mother once told me—
if you see someone trying hard not to cry in front of you, tell them it’s okay to cry.
Even if they’re a stranger, tell them so.”
“Your late mother said that?”
“Yes. She said if someone holds back tears before you… it might be because they’re thinking of someone they can never meet again.”
“Ah…”
Evan felt as if Musila herself had spoken through Loranthia.
His eyes, already hot, brimmed again with tears.
He turned away, wiping them as his white gloves grew damp.
“Here.”
Loranthia handed him a handkerchief.
Evan knelt down respectfully, receiving it with both hands, bowing deeply.
“Thank you, kind Lady Loranthia.”
His tears fell onto the rug below.
Loranthia, startled, soon smiled sadly, as if she understood.
“It’s nothing.”
Taishar had never seen Evan show such emotion before.
The man who always worked expressionlessly, efficiently—
now teared up at a single word from Loranthia.
Taishar looked toward Amelin.
She, too, was struggling to hold back tears, sniffling quietly as she wiped them with her sleeve.
Normally, Taishar would have reprimanded his servants for such sentimentality.
But since Musila had been their precious benefactor, he pretended not to notice.
As he watched Loranthia gently comforting Evan,
Taishar felt his left chest begin to throb.
“Sir Ranslon, where is Crown Prince Adrian?”
Taishar entered the office to find only Ranslon there.
“His Highness has a guest, my lord. They’re speaking in the adjoining reception room.”
“A guest…”
Taishar frowned.
He was supposed to meet Adrian at this time—
but for Adrian to accept another guest instead meant it was someone he couldn’t refuse.
“Sir Ranslon, who is it?”
“Well…”
When Ranslon told him, Taishar’s expression immediately darkened.
He knocked on the reception room door.
At Adrian’s “Come in,” he entered—
and saw the last person he ever wanted to meet.
“Marquis Spencer. It’s been a while.”
“Count Paul Heredian. What brings you here?”
Taishar bowed briefly to Crown Prince Adrian, seated at the head of the table, and then sat opposite Brandt Heredian.
“I was just asking His Highness to return my daughter.”
“Your daughter—do you mean Lady Illina?”
Taishar asked seriously.
For a heartless man like Brandt, who never saw Loranthia as his daughter,
there could only be one daughter in his mind—Illina.
“Illina is my daughter, yes. But I’m here to reclaim my precious child whom you’ve taken, Marquis Spencer. Don’t tell me you’re pretending not to know.”
Brandt glared sharply.
But Taishar laughed outright.
“Count Heredian, if you’re here to take Lady Loranthia back, I’m afraid she cannot go.”
“She is of the Heredian line. Even if Her Majesty the Empress decreed it, taking her without permission is unacceptable.”
“Did I just hear you call Lady Loranthia your precious daughter?”
“Yes. Loranthia is my precious child.”
“Aren’t you curious why I’m laughing, Count Heredian?”
Taishar’s smile vanished, his face hardening.
“No matter how I think of it, Lady Loranthia has never once been treated preciously in your household.
So when you suddenly call her precious—
I can’t help but laugh.”
Brandt couldn’t refute him. It was true.
“Please, return my Loranthia.”
“You just keep saying that without reason.”
“Please.”
“If she were truly precious, shouldn’t your first words be,
‘Is my daughter well? Is she in pain? Has she been suffering?’
Instead, all you’ve done is demand her return.”
Taishar’s tone brimmed with hostility.
He had long held back his anger—
but when Brandt uttered “my precious daughter,”
the restraint shattered.
“I can hardly believe you,” Taishar said coldly.
